


Depraved

by motherconfessor



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, Dark, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Fingerfucking, Non-Consensual, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 21:24:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12491168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motherconfessor/pseuds/motherconfessor
Summary: In the forest, the Queen reenact’s one of Regina’s worst memory.Alternative 6x02 scene in the forest





	Depraved

**Author's Note:**

> This contains extreme dubious consent/non-con elements. If you don't want to read non-con/extreme dubious consent, do not read this fic. Otherwise, proceed with caution. Crossposted onto my tumblr: beyondconfessor

Regina’s heart thudded as she stared at the very-real mirrored self. No, she wasn’t a mirror, she was the Queen. Every Hyde piece that she had torn from herself to crush beneath her fingertips — right there, well and alive, standing in an old favoured war-dress with an all too familiar smirk. It was like a perverse nightmare.

The Queen met her eyes, her head lolling to the side to watch Regina’s face squirm with realisation. There, in her hand, was the Count’s heart, phosphorus with a dull, pink light that threatened everything Regina had built for herself. 

It was too much.

“You ordered the Count to kill Snow White and Charming all those years ago,” the Queen’s eyes moved onto Henry to just _remind him_ of who they had been, who she was. “So now, that’s exactly what he’s going to do.”

Snow and David… Regina’s throat became swollen with words and desperation, only a single “don’t,” hissing out. They were, they **_are_** , her family. She couldn’t lose them. Henry and Emma would never forgive her. 

From behind her, she heard the rustling of leaves as Henry stepped forward to meet the Queen’s threat. Lunging sideways, she blocked his path, standing as the defender between the Queen and him. Her majesty would never intentionally hurt Henry, but she wouldn’t be careful with him, either. 

“No, no let him defend for himself,” the Queen said, leaning forward with her fingertips pressed together, the heart clapped between them in a dramatic display of cartoonish villainy. “It is _his_ family after all.”

Regina didn’t bother to roll her eyes. The jab wasn’t even worth that. Instead, she turned to Henry, warning him carefully with a silent stare. Henry’s eyes were bright and furious, but they eased. He understood. It was just a game to her. Any retaliation would only encourage her.  

Without her magic, they would just have to return to Snow and David, and hope they could prevent the Count from reaching them. Her heart shuddered. _Good always finds away,_ she reminded herself of her son’s words. She just needed the Count’s heart. 

“I mean,” The Queen spoke, perhaps realising their intention to leave, “I could _delay_ the attack. Maybe even prevent it with some encouragement.” 

“Don’t listen to her, she’s lying,” Regina warned Henry.  

The Queen tilted her head, scrunching up her face briefly in a display of mock-agreement, “True,” she said. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Before Regina could respond, the Queen’s empty hand had twisted, releasing a swarm of roots to unfurl from the forest floor. They tossed debris into the air, raining down brown, died leaves as they before coiling back like snakes, waiting to attack. Regina knew what would follow, too late she stumbled backwards as they leapt forward to slap over her arms and legs, wrapping around them like ivy to a log.  

A rich smile came on the Queen’s lips as she held the captured woman in the tree roots, “Whatever will I do with a fool like you, _Regina_?” Regina’s stomach lurched. The way the Queen said her name, pouring it out into three seperate, long syllables as tongue slipped over the name _Re-_ gi _-na._

She knew that infliction. 

“Henry, run.” 

“Mum ––“

“Now.”

She couldn’t see him, but she knew the boy’s wide-eyed, unsure stare at what to do. It only fed the pleasure in the Queen’s mouth before a mock pleasantry fell over her face as she ushered him to leave, “Go on. Mummy’s going to play a game for a while. She’ll be back with you _very_ soon.”

“No,” Henry said. At that, the Queen’s eyes widened in playful surprise before she laughed aloud.

“Is that so?” she said. 

“Henry, get help,” Regina said, turning to face her son and allowing the fear to spill over her face. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, Henry. Go.”

Henry nodded. His expression hardened as he clutched at the storybook, before casting a glare at the Queen. Then, without another prompt, her son ran off, kicking up leaves behind him as he went back to Storybrooke to find help. How much time did that give the Queen?

Too much. 

Not enough. 

“Good girl,” the Queen said, her voice low and teasing. “Now, shall we begin?” Her fingers unfurled, and like obedient pets, the limbs began pulling at Regina’s body, tugging her down for the Queen’s command. 

She resisted, standing on her own feet even as the inevitable dragged her further and further to the forest floor. Straining she pushed even as her arms threatened to release from their sockets.

The Queen just stared, her fingers curling as she tightening the roots’ bonds upon her, a dark, pleased smile on her mouth at the game they were playing.

Then, Regina’s knees hit the forest’s floor, the tree roots bringing her down to the Queen’s bidding. Still she tugged, her shoulders straining, hands turned into fits at the unbudging root system over her body. Drawing in a breath, she exhaled the fight from her body and looked down at the roots. Fighting would only make it more enjoyable for her majesty. She knew that. She knew that and yet panic still clamoured and clawed in her chest to fight, _fight. Fight!_  

But she breathed, resisting the game. 

“There. Much more fitting,” the Queen said, a wide smile on her lips as she stepped forward, her skirts dragging through the leaves behind her as she came to stand before Regina. Reaching out, her hand curved over her face before snatching at her jaw to tug Regina’s face up to look at hers. The Queen’s eyes were deep and dark eyes, filled with an unbridled fury that loomed, despite the grin on her face. Regina swallowed, unsure as to where the beginning of the hatred had begun in those dark pits and where her madness ended.  

“You look so like her,” the Queen whispered, a disgusted sneer curling over her face.

Confused by the statement, Regina’s head swam with the only logical response, “Like… _Snow White_?”

“ _Her_ , us,” the Queen hissed as if it made any more sense. Then with a roll of her eyes she flicked her hands and the simple, smart pantsuit Regina wore became a blue dress with a tight bodice. Her loafers a well-made pair of heeled slippers her Mother had specially made to match the virginal blue. 

_Ah_ , Regina realised at the stocking on her thighs and the old, familiar feeling of a garter belt that held them up, _her_. There was a person she hadn’t been since she had taken that girl’s heart and crushed it beneath her hand at Rumple’s beckoning. No, further back, she thought. Since her wedding night.

And with that thought, a fear began unfurl in her stomach, causing her belly to grow tight. _No_.

“ _Her_ ,” the Queen said, then a pleased smile pulled onto lips as she watch Regina’s naked fear unravel on her face. “So powerless, so _weak_ ,” she drawled as she stepped around, examining Regina’s attire. “So naive,” and then she pounced, grabbing a fistful of Regina’s hair. Despite, or perhaps because of, the strangled cry, she tugged the head back on the spine to have Regina’s eyes stare up at her. She held that position, watching the fearful eyes glisten as pain radiated from the scalp, but whatever pleasure it brought, only turned to a solemn questioning in the Queen’s eyes.

“I’ve always wondered…” she whispered. And then the roots were gone and the Queen had thrown one leg over the knees and dropped down to straddle her. Her hand still in the hair as she tugged is close, examining the frightened expression. “I suppose _we_ always wondered. Haven’t we, dear?”

Regina’s breath tugged from inside of her, pinching her breath as she stared into the swirling eyes. Knowing and yet not knowing the depths of the actions that would follow. A _please_ and a _don’t_ burrowed its way into her mouth before she swallowed it back. “You’re depraved,” she growled instead.

“Well, we both know that,” the Queen sighed. “But be honest with yourself,” She grinned as if it were a private joke they shared, "you’ve always wanted to find out what all the fuss was about. You still wonder when you look at Henry if he’ll grow up to be like him. Runs in both lines there, doesn’t it? And we weren’t much better.” The queen’s hands slid over her face, her thumb grazing over Regina’s mouth. “We tried with Graham, to understand. Such a pretty man, do you remember?”

Bile rose in Regina’s throat. “ _Yes_.”

“We tried over and over to understand and then, one day, we weren’t trying anymore.” The Queen tilted her head, a face of innocence, “I think that’s where all the problems began. We deluded ourselves into thinking that he might _like_ us. Well, we got our revenge for that betrayal.”

It was like a knife over her chest, remembering Graham, remembering his beating heart in her hand as the furious jealousy simmered down into peace and then _nothing_ as only dust remained. “Why are you doing this?” 

“Why? _Think about it_.”

Regina had no words. The madness that crept into the Queen’s eyes had begun to threaten to spill out and seep back into her. And then, all anger dispersed and only a strange, smile grew on her majesty’s lips. She leant forward then, the hand in Regina’s hair growing tighter as if to hold her still as she brushed her lips against the crest of Regina’s cheekbone.

There she whispered the one name Regina loathed to remember: “Eva…” she whispered, bringing back all the long forgotten memories from almost a half-century ago. “Do you understand now, Regina? It’s become full circle.”

The dark nails became hardened in Regina’s face as the Queen whispered again, “ _Eva_ , _”_ as if the name summoned her submission. 

And it did. Just like she was seventeen again. 

Regina’s chest rose and choked on the breath as the Queen’s mouth fell upon hers, her hands drawing away only to come and brush over her shoulders, slipping down over the sleeves. 

“Stop,” Regina hushed out weakly between the mouth, and the Queen laughed and kissed her again, drawing her mouth slowly over hers, pulling her bottom lip away as she sucked upon it. It wasn’t sloppy and drunken, but a precise dance that coaxed a tremor from it –– and it made it all the worse.

This was not just a cruel parody of the many nights. This was loathing in a new form.

“I promise,” The queen said as she moved her mouth to Regina’s throat, “you’ll enjoy this much, much more.” 

Regina swallowed, feeling the Queen’s tongue tease as her throat. Then, in an effort she pushed at the Queen with all her strength, but the Queen held firm, her hands catching Regina’s wrist, her face a cruel amused smile as she asked, tugging at the hands. Twisting in her grasp, she tried to untangle herself, but the queen was on her thighs and had her hands and there was nothing she could do. 

“Is this all? Is this all we _tried_? All we’re capable of without magic?” Then the roots were back, wrapping around Regina’s arms in a familiar braided design that held them high above her head, arching her back.

When she stopped fighting the binds and only drew a deep breath, the Queen’s hand, warm and soft, brushed the dried leaves from her shoulders before her lips dipped down and kissed at the marks that had scraped over skin. The brief tenderness cracked at Regina’s resolve as a helpless sob tore from her. “Don’t do this,” she plead. 

The Queen paused, holding Regina’s eyes as she considered her words carefully. Then, with a tilt of her head, she said: “Say please.” 

Regina’s head lolled as she drew in a breath, fighting over the pride that didn’t belong to her anymore. “Please,” she asked, the word shaking down her spine in a horrified shudder. _Please_ she begged of herself, knowing the answer. 

“No.” And then the Queen laughed, her mouth and teeth returning to Regina’s lips and tearing at the pretty blue fabric so the bodice tore down to waist, so the skirts ripped above her hips, until there was nothing but tatters and claw marks where her majesty’s hands had scraped at bare skin. But the worst hadn’t come, not yet. 

Because despite the cruelty Regina face, despite her arms drawn up high and her skin bare to the chilled air -– as the Queen’s mouth found hers, as her hand slid between her thighs –– each kiss and press and stroke were precise, planned movements over her skin; teeth found the spot in her neck that brought a coaxed warmth to bloom in her chest, the particular suck on her nipples that brought a wanton moan, and the stroke at her cunt that had the Queen’s hand slick from her desire. Despite her hatred, it would be so easy to lose herself in the cruel touch.

This was not the fumbling of a drunk king, but a well devised tortured that had Regina gasping and bucking against the hand out of instinct rather than pleasurable encouragement; her eyes squeezed shut at her body’s betrayal and a sob shook from her mouth before she bit at her tongue to stop from pleading for the Queen to stop despite a sick desire for it to not stop, not yet.

And then, as a threatening ache built, three fingers slipped inside of her, the Queen’s mouth over hers to feel the gasp before a moan breathed it out. “Very good,” she purred when it was done.

Regina hated her, hated her more than she ever hated anyone, even as her eyes rolled back and she pushed on the ball of her feet and found her own rhythm despite her attempt to remain still.  She hated her. 

All she could hear was the wet sound of fingers working between her thighs and the _crunch_ of debris beneath her and the low, breathless moans she gave the Queen with every rocked movement. 

It was almost over, Regina felt her body edging closer to the point, her body tightening and jerking as she reached closer to that point.

And then the Queen slowed down, tutting her, “I’m not done with you yet,” she promised.  

“ _Fuck you,_ ” Regina snarled. But the Queen only laughed before she flicked out her skirts, pulling away from Regina’s body as roots began wrapping around her ankles and calves slowly, inevitably pulling her legs apart.

“Don’t you dare!” she swore, fury tainted by fear.

Still, her majesty coaxed her into position and Regina’s useless fight died before it really begun as she found herself desperately drawing in an anticipated breath. The juxtaposed emotions brought a blur of hot tears that flushed her vision and spread down her cheeks. 

She wanted this. And the Queen knew it; as she pushed past every no, she took what was refused to her, knowing that it was always hers to take. Fuck her, fuck her to _hell_. 

Regina cried as a tongue slipped over her cunt and drew out shudder that caused her to clench around the fingers still pumping inside of her. “ _Please_ ,” she cried and the voice sounded so young to her ears, so broken as it strained against the sob, “ _Please_.”

She looked down between her legs and it was the Queen’s eyes staring back, one hand on her hip to steady the involuntary rock. Regina couldn’t see the smirk, but she knew it was there. With that, she felt her resolve give in. She stopped fighting the depraved hunger for the coming climax.  

Dropping her head back, she stared up at the forest’s treetops, allowing the shivers run over her skin, the tugging at her muscles as they strained with the _almost, almost, almost_. All she could hear was her hitched breaths and the wet, slick sound of tongue and fingers between her legs.

She could feel the incoming orgasm begin to creep over her shaking limbs. Her body moving in symmetry to the Queen’s own rather than against it as she reached for it with the Queen. 

And then, just like that, she was dropped. Before the orgasm had even begun, the roots disappeared and her breath slipped from mouth, her skin clothed once again in the simple pantsuit as she laid sprawled out in the debris as if it had never happened.  

But it had.  

Regina laid there panting, unmoving as she felt the air pressure pop around her ears. The Queen was gone and yet her desire wasn’t.

She laid there, eyes blinking as she felt a deep throbbing in her cunt at the wasted climax, left to do nothing but allow blood to rush and swell in an unwanted desire. She laid still, her eyes blinking up at the dappled light through the trees, listening to the birds sing out to one another.  

She laid still until she could manage a clear thought, and then she sat up. Only then did she hear the incoming sounds of running feet. The distant cry of her name on someone’s mouth. 

Shame washed over her at the incoming ‘help’, erasing any rage that could bubble. There was only shame and frustration and shame again from the arousal she could feel soaking through her dark pants. 

David and Emma arrived, Henry towing behind. And Regina didn’t say a word as she looked up at them –– her cheeks still flushed and bruises blooming over her skin. She didn’t have the magic to disappear or hide. Didn’t have the words to explain as Emma knelt down and David scanned the perimeter and Henry just stared at her, frightened.

“She’s gone,” was all Regina managed, rolling to push herself up on her hands and feet.

“What happened? What did she do?” Emma asked of her. “Did she _choke_ you?” Emma’s hand reached out and Regina pulled away, rubbing at the string of marks on her throat that had been caused by both limb and mouth. She could feel the raw damage that had been inflicted. 

“Don’t,” was all she managed, closing her eyes briefly to draw in a steady breath before pushing up onto her shaking legs. There was a headache forming in reaction to the inflicted punishment. She shut her eyes at the wave of dizziness from the growing aches.

“Regina?” David questioned in his form of, _are you OK_?

Ignoring him, she reached up to brush leaves from the dark hair before rolling her shoulders to ease the strained limbs. A wince cut her as she felt the pain radiate from her arms, the cuts now beginning to sting. She was thankful for the jacket and pants covering the more obscene marks. “Nothing happened,” she lied. 

“You look like you’ve been beaten up!” Emma said incredulously. 

A raw laugh came from her mouth before she could prevent it. Shaking her head, she offered nothing more than a sudden purse of her lips. 

Beatings were easy. What ever had happened to her was far, far darker and murkier in its mark — the Queen knew that. It was why she’d done it. 

Regina hadn’t just been frightened and angry, she was shamed and humiliated and desperately aroused. A part of her, despite all of that, still wanted to seek out the Queen, to finish what had been started. Which left the awful question to consider: what would she do if the Queen appeared again? Would she kiss or hit her?

Or would she just run away?

She didn’t want to consider it. 

 


End file.
